Chapter 16
Heather
The doctor’s words hit me like a physical blow. Grateful? I was bound helplessly over a bench, about to be paddled by my own husband while strangers watched, and I was supposed to feel grateful?
Before I could process that fully, I felt Ryan’s hands at my hips, his fingers hooking into the thin straps of the red thong. My breath caught in my throat as he began to slowly peel the lace down over my curves.
“I want you to think about something, Heather,” Ryan said, his voice taking on an almost conversational tone as he worked the panties down my thighs.
“This little thong wouldn’t have gotten in the way of the paddle at all.
I could have disciplined this naughty bottom with your new panties still in place. ”
The cool air moved inside the furrow between my ass cheeks, and over my pussy. The sensation, together with Ryan’s voice, made me shiver. I felt more vulnerable than I ever had in my life, my most intimate parts on display for these men while I lay helplessly restrained.
“But after what you’ve put me through,” Ryan continued, settling the thong just above my knees, “I’m convinced that a submissive wife needs to have her panties taken down by her husband regularly. It helps her understand her place and her duties.”
I whimpered at his words, at the casual way he spoke about my place as if I were property to be managed. But underneath the humiliation, I felt that treacherous heat building again, my body responding to his dominance despite my fear.
Ryan stepped back. I tried to crane my face back over my shoulder to look at him, hoping the woeful look on my face would at least evoke some pity in the man whose love I doubted even less than I had the day before, despite everything that had happened—despite even the hard look in his gorgeous eyes.
“Eyes front,” he said sternly. “I’ll tell you when I want to see that pretty, lying face again. You may feel sorry now, but you’re going to feel a lot sorrier in just a little while.”
I felt his warm hand settle on my waist, his palm steady and sure against my trembling skin. The touch felt both comforting and terrifying—this was my husband, the man who loved me… but he was about to hurt me in ways I’d never imagined he could.
The first blow came without warning. I sensed a puff of air, and then the paddle connected with my bare bottom.
A sharp crack echoed through the training room, and I gasped at the immediate sting.
The pain bloomed across my flesh like fire, but Ryan didn’t follow it immediately with another swat.
Instead, he waited, letting the burn build and intensify until I was squirming against the restraints.
Only then did the paddle fall again, landing on the other cheek with the same deliberate precision. I bit my lip, determined not to give them the satisfaction of hearing me cry out. I could handle this. I was stronger than they thought. I wouldn’t let them break me.
Ryan said nothing as he continued the slow, methodical punishment.
Each blow was calculated, timed to let the previous one reach its peak of agony before adding to it.
The silence was almost worse than if he’d been lecturing me—there was something coldly professional about his approach that reminded me uncomfortably of Master Paul’s techniques.
I closed my eyes, shutting out the sight of Master Paul and Dr. Hamelin standing in front of me, calmly observing.
I tried to pretend it didn’t hurt, tried to keep my breathing steady and my body still.
In my mind, I pictured myself as stoic, unaffected, proving to these men that I was stronger than they assumed.
But with each carefully placed swat, that facade became harder to maintain.
The paddle found new spots—the tender crease where my bottom met my thighs, the sensitive outer curves, the very center of each cheek.
Ryan’s aim seemed perfect, methodical, covering every inch of my backside with precise, punishing strokes.
Still he said nothing, and somehow his silence made everything worse.
I lost track of how many times the paddle had fallen.
The pain began to blur together into one continuous burn that consumed my entire world.
My resolve started to crack as tears leaked from my eyes despite my efforts to stay strong.
I couldn’t pretend anymore that this was tolerable, that I could endure it with dignity.
“Please,” I finally whimpered, my voice barely audible. “Please, Ryan… sir, I can’t—”
But he didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge that I’d spoken. The paddle continued its relentless rhythm, and I realized with growing desperation that my pleas meant nothing to him. This was going to continue until he decided it was over, not when I begged him to stop.
The breaking point came suddenly, without warning.
One moment I was gritting my teeth and trying to breathe through the pain, and the next I was screaming at the top of my lungs, my body bucking wildly against the restraints as the agony overwhelmed every rational thought.
My bottom was in flames, squirming lewdly in a vain attempt to quench a little of the agony.
“Stop! Please stop! I can’t take anymore!
” The words tore from my throat in ragged sobs as I thrashed helplessly against the leather bench.
All pretense of stoicism had vanished from my mind and my body as I seemed to ride the bench like a fiery steed, writhing obscenely under Ryan’s controlling hand.
“No… please… sir, please… no more… It hurts so much…”
The paddle continued its relentless descent, and I felt something inside me shatter completely.
All the walls I’d built, all the lies I’d told myself about who I was and what I needed—they crumbled under the weight of Ryan’s methodical discipline.
My body convulsed with each blow, and I could hear myself making sounds I’d never made before, animal noises of pure desperation.
“I’m satisfied with the color of your bottom,” Ryan said finally, his voice cutting through my sobs. “Your punishment for lying and crashing the car is over.”
Relief flooded through me so intensely I nearly passed out. It was over. The terrible burning would start to fade, and I could begin to recover some shred of dignity. But even as that hope flickered to life, Ryan’s next words destroyed it completely.
“I’ll stop when you’re ready to tell me everything about your sexual history.”
My blood turned to ice. Through my tears and the haze of pain, I understood what he was saying. This wasn’t over—it was just beginning. He would keep paddling me until I confessed everything about Chad, about what I’d done, about what I’d let him do to me.
“No,” I sobbed, my voice raw from screaming. “Please, I can’t. You don’t understand what you’re asking.”
But the paddle fell again, harder than before, and I shrieked as fresh fire bloomed across my already tortured flesh.
He wasn’t going to show mercy. He wasn’t going to let me keep my secrets.
My chivalrous husband had been replaced by someone who would break me as thoroughly as Master Paul had, who would strip away every lie until nothing remained but the truth.
“I’m waiting, Heather,” Ryan said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Tell me about the man who taught you to suck cock like a whore.”
The words hit me like a sledgehammer, and I felt what remained of my composure shatter completely.
He knew, now. He’d watched me with Master Paul—or Dr. Hamelin had told him about it.
My mind dwelt on that, as I tried to find a way to pretend it hadn’t happened, that everything hadn’t already fallen apart.
It didn’t work. However the information had reached him, Ryan knew about my mouth, about what I’d learned to do with it.
How a dominant man could use me for his crude enjoyment the way Chad had taught me to give head.
The brutal way Ryan had phrased it made my stomach lurch with shame even as my body responded with that familiar, unwelcome heat.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I lied desperately, my voice breaking on the words. But even as I said it, I knew how pathetic it sounded. The skill I’d displayed with Master Paul had been too practiced, too eager. There was no way to pretend I was inexperienced.
The paddle crashed down again, and I screamed, my body convulsing against the restraints.
The pain was beyond anything I’d ever imagined, but worse was the knowledge that Ryan would keep going until I told him everything.
Until I destroyed whatever remained of his love for me with the truth about what I really was.
“His name was Chad.” The words tore from my throat before I could stop them. “His name was Chad Morrison, and he was my boyfriend before I met you.”
I felt Ryan’s hand pause against my back, the paddle hovering just above my burning flesh. The silence stretched out, and I could hear my own ragged breathing echoing in the sterile room.
“Go on,” he said quietly, and there was something in his voice that made my chest tighten with terror. Not anger, exactly, but a kind of warm—gentle, even—satisfaction that told me he’d been expecting this confession.
“We dated for a year,” I sobbed, my face pressed against the leather bench. “He was… he was different from you. Rougher. He liked to… to control me.”
The paddle fell again, not quite as hard as before, but still enough to make me cry out. “I said everything, Heather. Don’t make me drag it out of you piece by piece.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the last of my resistance crumble. There was no point in fighting anymore. He was going to know it all.
“He… he… I guess he trained me,” I whispered, the words feeling like poison on my tongue.
“I mean… not like here, but…” I bit my lip, but I couldn’t keep the sob back.
“I don’t know… kind of like here? He… he taught me how to…
how to please him with my mouth. He said good girls learned to take it deep, to swallow everything he gave them.
He made me practice until he could fuck my face without me gagging. ”
My voice broke completely as the memories flooded back.
Chad’s apartment, the way he’d grab my hair and force me to my knees, the pride I’d felt when he called me his good little cocksucker.
I’d loved it then, loved the way he’d used me, but saying it aloud to my husband made me want to die of shame.
“What else?” Ryan’s voice was steady, relentless. “What else did he teach you?”
“I don’t want to say it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of my own ragged breathing. The leather beneath my face was damp with tears, and I could taste salt on my lips. “Please, Ryan. Please don’t make me.”
But even as I begged, I knew it was useless.
The paddle hovered above my burning bottom like a promise, and I could feel Ryan’s patience wearing thin.
He’d already heard me confess to being trained like a captive whore, to learning to service Chad’s cock like the eager little slut I’d been.
What was left to tell would only make things worse.
“He taught me to take it in my ass.” The words exploded from my throat in a rush, as if saying them quickly would make them hurt less. “He said good girls let their men use all their holes, that I needed to learn to be a proper little ass girl for him.”
I felt Ryan’s hand tighten on my waist, his fingers pressing into my skin. The silence that followed my confession seemed to stretch forever, and I wished desperately that I could take the words back, could somehow undo what I’d just revealed.
“Is that why you told me it was off limits?” Ryan asked, his voice deadly quiet. “Because you’d already given that part of yourself to another man?”
I sobbed against the leather, my entire body shaking with shame. “Yes,” I whispered. “I thought… I thought if you… if you had me there, you would think of me the way he had, and I didn’t… I didn’t think I… I wanted it to be, you know, in the past—I wanted to be different… for you.”
The admission hung in the air like a poison cloud.
I’d just told my husband that I’d lied about who I was, that I’d denied him a part of me that I’d freely given to another man—a part that somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d known Ryan would want.
The betrayal in my own words made me sick to my stomach.
“How often?” Ryan’s voice was controlled, but I could hear something dangerous underneath it. “How often did he fuck your ass?”
“Every time we had sex,” I whispered, the shame burning through me like acid. “He said my pussy was just for foreplay, that real men took what they wanted from the back. He trained me to come from it, to beg for it. By the end, I couldn’t get off any other way.”
The paddle came down hard, harder than any blow before it, and I screamed as fresh fire erupted across my tortured flesh. But this time it felt different—not like punishment, but like claiming. Like Ryan was trying to burn Chad’s ownership right out of my skin.
“That’s why you faked it with me,” he said, and I could hear the hurt in his voice now, the pain I’d caused with my lies. “Every time we made love, you were thinking about him. Wishing I would flip you over and take your ass like he did.”
I couldn’t deny it. The truth was too obvious, too devastating to argue against. “I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”